


Happiness is the Best Revenge

by rivers_and_roads



Category: Bridgerton (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-03
Updated: 2021-01-03
Packaged: 2021-03-12 23:21:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28518561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rivers_and_roads/pseuds/rivers_and_roads
Summary: A reimagining of the conversation on the bridge in 1x03. After her conversation with Anthony, Daphne is resolved to ask the Duke why he is so opposed to marriage. Simon decides to unfold himself to her.
Relationships: Daphne Bridgerton/Simon Basset
Comments: 24
Kudos: 425





	Happiness is the Best Revenge

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not sure whether I will continue this. I'd love some suggestions for the direction of future chapters. Enjoy!

Lady Danbury and Lady Bridgerton walked along the path, with Simon and Daphne following behind, each group engrossed in their own conversations.

“My mother told me something curious the other day,” Daphne began. “That one should marry one’s dearest friend.”

“Are you suggesting I marry your brother?” he joked.

“No,” Daphne laughed. “But since we are friends, can I ask you something? Why is it that you are so determined not to marry?”

He looked unsure for a moment, struggling with how to answer, or indeed, whether to answer at all.

Daphne continued, “It’s only, don’t you want a family someday? Companionship? Love?”

This time he met her eye for more than a moment, drinking in their blue-green depths. He could easily imagine a long life with Daphne by his side. It was not the first time he had done so. But that was no matter, for he was no prospect for her.

“I suppose it would be nice to have a partner. But weren’t you the one who said I may not be the type of man that women wish to marry?” he quipped.

Daphne sensed his cop-out. “Simon,” she began gently. “If you think it would be nice to have a family, nothing should get in your way. You’re eminently eligible, handsome – ” she flushed. “You know as well as I that you could have any young lady in the ton, if you so desired.” He stared tenderly into her eyes again. “But – is there another reason? You have been so insistent, driving away every ambitious mama in the ton before our ruse began. Surely, there is something else. You know you can tell me, as your friend.”

Simon knew that her continued insistence that they were friends should dissuade him from baring his soul to her. That it was not an invitation for him to hint at his feelings—feelings that should be irrelevant, for Daphne wanted a family. But part of him desperately wanted to tell someone. No, tell _her_.

Or did he just want forgiveness? Did he harbor a secret hope that she would give up her dream and choose him? Him, a prospect that he had told her at every opportunity was off the table. A prospect she surely did not consider.

He felt Daphne’s eyes on him as he deliberated. _This is ridiculous_ , he thought to himself. _Stop wrapping yourself in lies you can never keep straight_.

“My father,” he began, resolving to tell her the truth. Resolving for her to truly be his friend, and thus, know everything, as Lady Danbury did. “My father was a cruel man.”

He saw Daphne stiffen at the admission, but her eyes quickly transitioned to ones of deep sympathy. She moved closer to him on the bridge.

“My mother died giving birth to me. All he wanted was a son. I have heard stories – that he pushed her too hard, too quickly. And I never had a mother because of his insistence that she give him an heir.”

“Simon,” Daphne breathed. She placed one gloved hand over his on the bridge railing.

“When I was young,” Simon continued, before taking a shaky breath, “I could not speak. I stammered, or chose not to speak at all. He…he found it an insult.”

“Simon,” Daphne replied, her voice filled with emotion. “Many children who lose their mothers are – delayed. You could not speak because you had no one to teach you, to care for you.”

Simon considered this assertion. “I had Lady Danbury. But truthfully, it was not until she took charge of my education that I began to overcome my impediment.”

“Thank God for Lady Danbury.” Daphne looked over at the older woman, strolling with her own mother, a renewed sense of admiration filling her.

“She took me away from my father. She helped me with my reading and writing, with my stammer. She was very kind.”

Daphne nodded sympathetically.

Simon took another deep, shuddering breath. “But, all I ever wanted was my father’s approval.”

“Of course you did.”

“When I was older, Lady Danbury took me to see him. To show him how I had improved.”

Daphne’s eyes were filled with worry at what she was about to hear. _Poor Simon_ , she thought. It suddenly made sense, how withdrawn and aloof he could sometimes be. _Though not often with me_ , the thought rose, unbidden. She shook it away. They were discussing the Duke’s deep childhood trauma. It would not do to dwell only on the implications for herself.

“What happened?” she asked.

“He was not impressed,” he said simply. “I never went back.”

“Until now?” she pressed, though she sensed she should not.

Simon resolved to tell all. “I visited him on his deathbed. And I made him a promise. That I would not marry or sire an heir. That the Hastings line, the only thing he cared about – more than my mother, more than me – would end.”

Daphne felt a single tear roll down her cheek. Simon glanced at her face and saw it there, his mask breaking into an expression of worry.

“I’ve upset you, Miss Bridgerton.”

“Simon.” She squeezed his hand, which she was still holding. They were the picture of stillness on the bridge. If someone were to look over, they might surmise that Simon had just broken off their courtship or some such nonsense.

She tried to hold his eyes, to fill his soul with the truth of her words. “I’m so sorry.”

He flicked his hand out of her grasp and turned away, embarrassed. “It’s no matter.”

“Of course it is,” she continued, reaching gently for his shoulder, to turn him back toward her. “I am sorry I pressed you. But I – I’m glad you told me.”

His face softened, the way it sometimes did when staring into her eyes.

“And I’m sorry to say it, Simon. You did not ask my opinion. But –” she stopped, but he showed now sign of stopping her. “This revenge, much as it might soothe your soul now…it cannot make you happy forever.”

His jaw set, partially out of annoyance, and partially out of acknowledgement of the deep-seeded truth.

“Surely the worse hurt would be to allow your father to dictate your happiness, long after he is gone. A wife, a family – an opportunity to be to them everything that he was not to you. Surely that…would be a better revenge?”

Simon knew her naivety was speaking now. That she believed him gallant and brave, her friend. Not some damaged husk of a man who did not know how to love, who did not know how to care for those around him. It was all very good to aspire to the perfect family life when it was all she had ever known. She did not know how dark and damaged he was, how much his commitment to revenge filled his soul. Yet slowly, over the past weeks, something new had begun to buoy him. _Her_.

“I do not know how to live that life,” he finally replied.

“You do,” she insisted. “Everyone does. It is the most natural thing in the world. Simon –” Daphne began, “if you decide to pursue another course, I will be here to support you, as your friend. We need not continue our ruse if you change your mind. If you decide that happiness, your happiness, is more important than revenge.”

“Daphne,” Simon replied, turning his attention solely to her and her kind heart. “I made you a promise, and I intend to keep it. The conventions of society that would reduce you down to your success or failure at a singular task, they are unfair and they are wrong. I will not abandon you until you find your match, your love and family.”

“Now there,” he said, shifting focus across the bridge, “is a fine group of recruits.” He reached into one of the flower arrangements placed on the bridge, and plucked a white rose. He gave it to Daphne. Daphne accepted it softly.

“And I’ll make you a promise,” Daphne replied. “That if you ever want to talk about this, I am here to listen. And –” she hesitated, “I hope you do decide that being happy is the best revenge.”

“Daphne,” her mother called from the other side of the bridge. Simon and Daphne looked at each other once more, before moving to join their chaperones on the bank. Daphne felt an odd mix of hurt and hope. Deep sadness for Simon, and lightness that he had trusted her so. And perhaps, the hope that he would take her advice. Then there was the hope that he would reach for her hand again, as he had at Somerset House. That his fingers would reach for the exposed flesh of her back during their next dance. As she pondered all this, Simon grabbed at her gloved hand and gripped it tightly. A small smile tugged at the corners of Daphne’s mouth. Lady Bridgerton’s eyes flickered down to their joined hands, but she hid the gleam in her eye by turning back to Lady Danbury, who looked equally satisfied.

Simon’s heart felt lighter than air, but his grip on Daphne’s hand held him down to earth. Loathe as he was to leave Daphne’s side, he found himself itching to return home, where he could begin making plans in private without distractions. Plans to begin truly courting Miss Bridgerton.


End file.
